


i've only been here one time

by evanescentwoodnymph



Series: Widowmaker Drabbles [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, allusions to drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanescentwoodnymph/pseuds/evanescentwoodnymph
Summary: drabble round up.
Series: Widowmaker Drabbles [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/973434
Kudos: 1





	i've only been here one time

That little girl in your head.  
  
Is she more of a woman that you will ever be? Does violet skin and cold hands serve as a reminder of all you couldn’t save? Are you protecting her or repressing her?   
  
Do you know the violent grief storming inside her? Have you any access to those emotions? Do the drugs help?  
  
When warm blood splatters on your face, does her revulsion surface? Does the smell and taste of carnage send her away so you don’t have to think about it?   
  
And when you’re alone, without even the little girl to seek solace in, then what? Will you end this self-mutilation at last?   
  
Let go of her hands. It’s the only thing you have left to shed. Let cruelty be your one mistress. You’ve come this far already. 

The pieces of her personality are barely held together by the weak tape that is flesh and bone. Sometimes the outer layers fall off, and she’s left a woman just as vulnerable and frightened as anyone else in the world. She’s nowhere, and there’s peace in that. 

A different kind of silence falls about her. It’s not that hyper-focused drone, nor is it an air of superiority. She is pensive. She thinks about her own insignificance. She thinks about cars and bacteria and light. She thinks about the friction of the wind causing ripples upon a sleepy lake. Undone. A ghost haunting a vessel with different priorities. Usually she’s held down, but she breaches. The bitterness dissipates and she is simply present. Unmoving. A visitor. Foreign. It’s good to be back, but it’s not her anymore. It will be time for her to swim back to the depths soon. The surface is a pleasant holiday. 

## ghost in the mirror

_your little façade is falling apart._  


_ how long can you keep it up before you are shocked back into submission? how long before they bring you back to ground zero?  _

_ and after that, will it be worth it to build this self you’ve created back up again? is she worth it?  _

_ how much longer will this vessel go on before it’s handled all it can take? _

_ is it that euphoric splatter of blood on your face enough when it’s all said and done? or will you just keep wanting more like the first time? you’re cracking. you want to be manipulated. you want the need for agency to stop. for them to just control your every move. strip you clean of your humanity and desires once more, until you’re not even a predator. you’re nothing. easily programmed while she’s somewhere off in paradise, separated from everything. split into a million pieces to make it all easier… _

she’s staring at herself in the mirror, eyes wide and glazed over, skin stretched thinly over her knuckles as she grips the sink, body rigid, legs asleep and threatening to give out beneath her. she can’t see herself clear, she keeps going out of focus as the thoughts go on. how easy it would be to succumb to them! everyday these three women fight, and the ruthless assassin inches ever so close to winning every time. one day she will prevail. she’s the strongest out of all of them. and she’s trying to survive. 

A record plays, and she’s lost in that most obvious thought. 

_ C'est un chanson  
Qui nous ressemble  
Toi qui m'aimais  
Et je t'aimais  
Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble… _

What made her think of it this time? That soft voice pleading with her to not break his heart? She can hear it perfectly in her head. She can feel the soldier’s calloused hand cup her cheek, dark brown eyes so sincere and gentle. 

_ “Ne me brise pas le coeur s'il te plait.”  
_

_“Jamais, mon amour.”_  


Funny what she knows is true now. What she cannot be brainwashed out of knowing ever again. She was always his. How could she ever let them think otherwise? Who was that woman before who let them convince her of everything they wanted? To have complete control over her most fragile self? She is too late. It’s all over. One false kiss goodnight. How could she ever think he did anything but love her? 

Those images and lies put in her head are nearly forgotten now. 

And she’s left with the emptiness caused by the actions of a weak-willed woman. 

She is not proud of that woman. She is inferior. She loved deeply, felt deeply, and ran with passion, but she took it all away with a single death. The aftermath is her ghost, wiser and competent, but with nothing. 

_ But I miss you most of all my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall… _

She wakes up feeling like shit already. Lifting her head, she feels dried fluids flake off her face. The speaker is still playing their song on repeat. The empty bottle of wine, and powdery white residue litter her side table. She sits up and feels a freighter running through her head. Her mouth is dry. 

A look in the mirror and she’s covered in dried tears, blood, and wine-tinted drool. Attractive. Her roomba follows her in the bathroom, changing the song at last. Tchaikovsky. Rich and beautiful. Triangular and whole. 

“Shut up.” She taps the pet with her foot. It scoots off, shutting off its speakers, and the assassin takes a shower. 


End file.
